


The Queen of Peace

by miraellie



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: More characters and pairings as they appear, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2020-03-02 16:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraellie/pseuds/miraellie
Summary: After the Snap, the deposed royal family of Vanaheim have turned to dust... except for the youngest daughter, Sigyn. Now she must try to find her way alone in a universe that grows more terrifying with each passing day. Will she take up the crown and lead her people through the apocalypse? Or will the forces that work against her overpower her and take the little left that she holds dear?





	1. Chapter One

The ground shook beneath her body. 

All around her, the mountains trembled; rocks skittered across the dirt; trees did their best to protect the animals they housed even as their trunks threatened to fall. The very planet seemed to scream, a warning heard only by a few.  
  
_Death, death, death to all._  
  
Sigyn awoke with a gasp, quickly sitting upright. Heart pounding, it took her a second to look around and see that her surroundings were calm. The mountains were still, as were the rocks. Branches swayed in the wind, but that was all. Flowers fell from Sigyn’s hair, landing in her lap and the grass around her. 

She tried to calm herself with a steadying breath. It had only been... what? A vision? She hadn’t been asleep, not truly. She’d come to her favorite meadow in the hills outside the royal city to listen to the earth. It didn’t usually require her to fall into a trance or dreamlike state. All Sigyn had to do most times was lie down, close her eyes, and listen. 

The wind rippled through the grass. _Death,_ she thought she could hear it whisper. 

 _Whose death?_ Sigyn thought. A flash of blue-black and white on the ground next to her caught her eye. Freezing, Sigyn felt her heart begin to pound again.  
  
A magpie lay dead beside her.  
  
Exhaling slowly, Sigyn took a handkerchief from inside her _deel_ and used it to pick up the poor bird. She couldn’t see any wounds on it, nor was its neck broken. Almost as if its heart had simply stopped and it had fallen out of the sky. Sigyn studied the corpse in her hands and wondered. 

The ground warned her before she heard the hoofbeats coming up behind her. Sigyn turned and saw a messenger fast approaching her on a horse. The rider pulled on the reins as they neared.  
  
“My lady.” He was barely older than a boy, Sigyn noted. Only the first stubble of his beard were beginning to show. “Your lord father requests your presence urgently. I’m to give you a ride back to the palace.” 

She did not stand up. “Your name?”  
  
The boy blinked in surprise. Definitely young, and new to the job at that. “Er--Otgonbayar, my lady.” 

“You’re the youngest son of your family’s, then?”

Sigyn looked back to the bird. If she left it where she’d found it, some animal would have a good meal. It would have been the more important thing to do. 

Instead, Sigyn folded the bird in her handkerchief and set it in her pocket. She would bury it later. 

“Y-yes, my lady. I, um, I don’t mean to rush, but your lord father...” 

Smiling slightly, Sigyn stood and faced the rider. “My father knows this may take a moment. Did he give you a word to give to me, by chance?” 

A blush appeared on Otgonbayar’s cheeks as realization dawned. “Oh! Uh, crocus? My lady?” 

Her smile widened and she held out her hand to Otgonbayar. “Pull me up, please. My apologies if I get grass and dirt on your clothes.” 

Confused but already too well trained to ignore her in favor of it, Otgonbayar helped Sigyn into the saddle behind him. She held on to his sides lightly as they rode from the hills back into the city. _How strange,_ Sigyn thought, _that I went into the meadows to get away from the panic and only found more._  
  
The message had come two days before, an emergency signal from Asgard that had been cut short. Hogun, the current leader and representative of Vanaheim, had sent it, but with no instructions other than a plea for aid. The council he had left to act in his absence had been reluctant to send their retired army to Asgard with no knowledge of what awaited them.  
  
Sigyn had sat back and listened as the Vanir council had argued amongst themselves about what it could mean. Her siblings and father sat with her, unable to do much. They had no power on Vanaheim anymore, not since the War, but the council had felt it urgent enough to include them in their arguments.  
  
After the sixth or so hour of listening to them fight, Sigyn had excused herself. The council did not notice her leaving. As the youngest daughter, she held the least amount of importance, and she was thankful for that as she’d escaped to the outside. There was a fleeting chance that the ground might provide her with some kind of clue. At least, that was what she’d told herself to justify her escape. 

Sigyn thought again of the dead magpie. She would have considered it an omen, were the person it warned her of not already died years before. 

Otgonbayar brought his horse to the doors of the old palace. She politely waved away his offer to help her down and did so by herself, giving her blue deel only a brief straightening before walking through the doors. Everyone was used to the messy, almost shabby, way she kept herself. Indeed, none of the servants batted an eye anymore. They merely bowed and murmured greetings before going about their day. 

Minutes later, she was back in the golden council room. The floor was smooth and cool beneath her callused bare feet. Already she missed the sun-warmed ground. The council members were gone, and only her father and her siblings remained, which was unusual.  
  
“Papa?” 

Njord looked up. His expression was grim, as it had been for the last two days. “Sigyn,” he said. “After you left, the council decided to send out scouting ships to Asgard. They’ve just returned.” 

She glanced over at her brother and sister. Freyja was stiff, as if she wanted nothing more than to get up and fight. She hadn’t been a Valkyrie in many centuries, but her sister had not lost the intensity that role had instilled in her. Freyr, meanwhile, had a hand covering his eyes. His shoulders were slumped. Whatever the ships had found at Asgard, it hadn’t been good. 

“Asgard is gone,” Njord said softly. “We know not how it happened, but the scouts only found rubble.”  
  
Sigyn didn’t immediately react. The news was so momentous that she couldn’t -- how could she? What was the correct way to respond to the fact that an entire Realm had been destroyed? A Realm that she had silently hated for centuries, that had conquered and ruled them for so long? 

All she could manage in the end was a quiet, “Oh.” 

“As far as we’re aware, the Allfather is dead,” Njord continued. He spread his hands helplessly. “All the Aesir that lived there are dead.”  
  
Sigyn came to stand behind a chair, setting her hands on the back of it, though she didn’t know if she was trying to steady herself or merely wanted something to hold. Was it possible for nearly an entire race to die so quickly? Maybe for others, but not the Aesir. Not the warmongering, golden Aesir. They killed other races; they did not die themselves. 

“I see,” she said. “Do we know how?” 

Freyja spoke then. “No. But if it was something that destroyed Asgard, it’s gone, and it is not near Vanaheim.” She shrugged a shoulder, the long trails of beads on her headdress clinking together. “That’s the important part.” 

“The important part is that people have died,” Freyr said, raising his face from his hand to stare hard at his twin sister. “Including Hogun.”  
  
Freyja was a study in apathy as she examined her golden painted nails. “And? All we can do for them now is hold a ceremonial funeral and honor their lives. Find the scattered Aesir on our land and give them our condolences and whatever else the last remaining members of a people require.” 

“You do not do yourself any credit, sister,” Freyr said, his voice hard. “Have some compassion.” 

“I do,” Freyja said. “But if you expect me to cry golden tears for those people, especially a traitor like Hogun, then you’ll be disappointed.” 

“Stop,” Njord ordered before the twins could continue their argument. They both fell silent, though Freyja began to tap her nails on the table in irritation, the only sign that she was bothered by Freyr’s words. “We all have our conflicted feelings on Asgard and its people,” Njord said. “But Freyja is right. There’s nothing we can truly do except honor the memory of their lives. Asgard is already gone. The council will replace Hogun in time. We will continue on.” 

There was a beat of silence before Freyja said, “You could become King again.” 

Sigyn held back her wince. She had been waiting for Freyja to bring the idea up. 

Njord frowned. “I don’t think so,” he said. “The council wouldn’t allow it, and even if Asgard is no longer with us, there are laws in place now.” 

“Laws? Ink on paper,” Freyja said dismissively. “Laws are created by us. We can erase them just as easily.” 

Freyr shifted in his seat. “I think she’s right, father,” he said. “The Allfather is dead.” 

“But his son may yet still live,” Njord said, shaking his head. “We don’t know that Thor was on Asgard when it was destroyed. The last we heard of him, he was roaming the Nine.” 

“What of him? He cannot be an Allfather with no one and no Realm to rule over.” 

“The Aesir we have here will become our citizens,” Freyr said. “With Asgard gone, what happened years ago will happen again. Marauders will be running through the Realms, wreaking havoc. The Realms will need a leader to step into the Allfather’s place and keep the peace. You cannot stand by and let people flounder in this new order. There needs to be someone to guide things.” 

Njord did not immediately answer. His gaze was trained on Sigyn, who had been thinking of the dead magpie with growing confusion when she’d heard the mention of marauders. She gripped the back of the chair hard, her knuckles turning white, and she felt a violent shudder go through her.  

Forcing herself to breathe, Sigyn shook off her brief panic.  “Freyr is right, Papa. Things will be uncertain and dangerous for a while when news of Asgard has spread throughout the Nine--or... the Eight?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have a plan going forward. I don’t know if you should be King again or not, but you do need to be a leader. We can decide the specifics later when the initial panic is over--and there will be panic.” 

Njord sighed. “And if Prince Thor decides to become King? He could find us in violation of the treaty. It could lead to another war.” 

“If he would risk a war while his people suffer, then he’s not fit to be King of anything,” Freyja said. 

“Father does have a point,” Freyr said drily. “Thor isn’t known for making good choices. They say he’s learned his lesson since Jotunheim, but who can be sure?” 

“He’ll have no army,” Sigyn added quietly. “Even with our own military diminished and unused, we could fight back easily. If it came to that.” She hoped it wouldn’t. Hadn’t there been enough death already? Freyr was right, though; Thor was not known for being diplomatic or calmly thinking things through. That had been the purview of another in the Allfather’s family. 

Njord was silent as he considered all his children’s opinions. Sigyn wondered, briefly, if he even wanted to be king again. Did _she_ want him to be king again? It had been such a long time since any of them were in power. Freyja had long since yearned to have their father on the throne again, whereas Freyr was more ambivalent towards the idea. 

Sigyn didn’t quite know how she felt about it. Njord had never spoken about it with any of them. The council would hate the idea--it _would_ be a direct threat to their own standing--and the people of Vanaheim might not accept it either. Everyone had grown used to being under Asgard’s rule, even if the acceptance had been grudging at best. 

Sigyn hesitated before saying, “Papa, there’s something else. When I was out in the meadow, I heard the land--” 

Distant screams broke through the relative quiet of the council room. Beside her, Freyja tensed, her hand going to where she’d once kept her golden sword. Freyr stood and approached the door to the room, his footsteps quiet, body ready for some kind of attack. The screams grew closer until they were coming from inside the palace. 

“What--” 

The door slammed open and Otgonbayar nearly slid on the floor and fell. He caught himself on the edge of the door. His face was panicked, his breath more like a wheeze. “My lord! There’s--people are--something’s happening--” 

“Oh, spit it out, child,” Freyja snapped. “Are we being attacked?” 

“N-no, my lady, I’m sorry, but--” He stopped and, if it were possible, his face became paler. His gaze was fixed behind them. 

Sigyn spun around to follow it and did not know how to process what she was seeing. Njord stumbled against the table, his legs having turned to dust, and the rest of his body was following. 

He didn’t look as if he were in pain. Somehow, that was worse than if he’d been screaming in agony. 

“Papa?” Sigyn whispered, reaching out to him. 

He managed to give her a small, shaky smile, before the last of him turned to dust and fell away. Her hand met empty air. 

“Freyr!” 

Freyja ran towards her twin, trying to catch him as he fell, but his body dispersed into the same dust and fell around her. “No,” she gasped, looking at the place he’d been standing, then turning around quickly to look at Sigyn. Her brown eyes were wide. “Sigyn, are you--” She took a step forward, then stopped, letting out a small gasp. Freyja held her hand up and stared as it began to wither. 

To her eternal shame, Sigyn found she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare in utter, uncomprehending horror. 

Her sister took a small breath, eerily calm. “Be brave, Sigyn,” she said, her voice breaking. “Endure. I know you can.” 

And then she was gone. 

Nothing remained of any of them. Not even their clothes. 

The screams had stopped. Or maybe she simply couldn’t hear them anymore. Perhaps this was all a nightmare--maybe she was still out in the meadow, listening to the land scream, and it had become this horrific dream. Maybe she was about to turn to dust, too. Sigyn hoped she would. She hoped to fade away and wake up and find herself in Folkvanger, her family waiting for her, the troubles of the Nine far behind them. 

Maybe this was Ragnarok. 

She stood there for what seemed like an eternity. She did not turn to dust. Nor did she wake up. Her family remained gone--dead. 

Numbly, Sigyn fell to her knees and screamed.


	2. Chapter Two

  
Sigyn woke when the sunlight shone onto her face. A heavy, warm weight laid beside her body and across her feet. Her mind fuzzy from the sleeping draught that had been forced down her throat, she didn’t immediately recognize her cat, Runa. Her fingers found their way into Runa’s thick coat, causing the large beast to let out a rumble of a purr. She supposed it was some relief to know that not everything had been taken from her. At least she still had her cat.

But not her family.

Taking in a shuddering breath, trying to push it past the heaviness in her chest, Sigyn rose from her bed. She was in her former bedroom in the royal palace. It had been changed since the War: In place of the many bookcases she’d had lining the walls, there were simple tapestries and paintings depicting pretty nature scenes. The walls themselves were still the deep blue Sigyn had chosen long ago. Any personal effects were gone. It was a bland room, clearly only used to house visitors. She supposed it should have bothered her to see her first bedroom reduced to something so thoughtless.

Maybe before. Not now.

Heading over to the gold, gauzy curtains and pulling one back, Sigyn squinted at the brightness of the mid-afternoon sun. She had never slept so late before. Once her eyes adjusted, she looked out over the old royal gardens. They were deceptively peaceful, as if her family hadn’t...

 _No. Don’t think about it. Not just yet._ Later, she could think about it, and process her feelings. Right now, Sigyn couldn’t face it.

A knock at the door startled her and Runa lifted her head, ears pricked towards the entrance. Sigyn’s wards didn’t warn her of anyone who meant her harm, so she called out, “Come in.”

A woman Sigyn vaguely recognized as being part of the council walked in. She had warm brown skin, and her black hair was done in braids and pulled back from her face. She wore an Aesir style dress of gold and darker red, the colors of the Allfather. It took far longer than it should have for Sigyn to remember her name. “Lady Dalla.”

Dalla bowed respectfully. She had an air of exhaustion about her, supported by her the deep wrinkles in her dress. Clearly the council had been awake all night. “I hope I didn’t wake you, my lady?”

“No.” Sigyn tried to keep her face neutral even as she guessed that Dalla had arrived to relay the condolences of the council. She could think of nothing she’d like to hear less.

“Well. I’m afraid we have much to talk about, my lady. Should I send for a servant to help you get dressed and bring up some food?” Dalla paused before adding, with a wince, “It may take some time. There aren’t many servants left.”

Dalla’s words were like insects landing on the surface of a pond. They made few ripples, but did not disturb the deeper water. Sigyn heard what she was saying but wouldn’t have been able to repeat anything back, never mind begin to comprehend. She let the curtain fall from her hand, blocking the sunlight. Her deel was a wrinkled mess and her hair was falling out of its braid. Her teeth needed brushed. She was no in state to have visitors.

“No. I’m...” She almost said fine, but she wasn’t. She was nothing. She was simply there. “I’m not hungry.” Would she even know if she were?

The council woman hesitated again before nodding. Dutifully, she did not mention that Sigyn did not answer whether she wanted to get changed into a fresh deel. She stood in silence for a drawn out moment before Sigyn realized she was waiting for permission to sit.

Exhausted, Sigyn bit back a sigh and said, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, my lady.” They sat by the window, a small table between them. “I won’t waste anymore time with pleasantries or chit chat. I understand you’ve been through a horrific shock, and I would give you more time to recuperate before burdening you with anything else. Unfortunately, it cannot wait.”

Sigyn blinked slowly. “I don’t understand.”

“What happened to your family happened elsewhere on Vanaheim,” Dalla said grimly. “We still don’t know the exact numbers, but across Vanaheim, we may have lost up to half our population. They simply turned to dust. As far as we know, there wasn’t any discernible cause.”

Sigyn could remember the sound it made when her family became dust. It had been so quiet, just sand falling in a pile, and yet it had been louder than a waterfall to her ears. Aware that Dalla was waiting for a response, Sigyn mustered up a reply. “I... see.” She frowned, shaking her head slightly. Numb as she was, she could tell something didn’t make sense here. “I don’t understand why you’re here, right now, telling this to me.”

The lines in Dalla’s face grew deeper. “I’m here because I’m the only member of the council left,” she said. “The others are dead. As are most of their staff, and really, anyone who could help me in our recovery effort. I’ve been doing what I can by myself, but with our reduced number here in the palace, it simply isn’t feasible.”

All Sigyn could do was stare. These words found their way deeper and she wanted to recoil from them. The entire council was gone? Up to half their population, if not more? Had this happened on Asgard before it was turned to rubble? Sigyn had never taken the old legend of Ragnarok seriously, but even she knew that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. There had been nothing in the stories about some people turning to dust and others being spared.

Runa stepped down from the bed and came to sit next to Sigyn, resting her large head on her lap. Sigyn placed a hand on her head, hoping for an anchor to her reality. “Then you’re here to ask me for help?”

Dalla’s dark brown eyes scrutinized Sigyn. “I’m asking you to take up the crown of Vanaheim and become our Queen.”

If Dalla had reached across the table and slapped her, Sigyn would’ve been less shocked. “Are you mad?”

“Only as mad as what the situation calls for, my lady.”

“Shouldn’t you promote newer people to the empty council chairs?”

“I would, were there any to promote.” Dalla spread her hands. “As I said, anyone who could become a new council and help me is dead. Do you think I would be here if I had other options, Lady Sigyn? I’ve spent the night and nearly this entire day looking at my options while you slept here in bed. The conclusion I’ve reached is that _you_ are my only option.” She stood then, almost brimming with anger and desperation. Runa growled a warning. “Do not mistake me, my lady: I do not want this in the least. You are not your sister, nor even your brother. You are the quiet youngest daughter that even people in Vanaheim say is strange.”

Sigyn felt the first sparks of anger go off inside her chest. “Then you should find someone who is not strange. I know nothing of being Queen.”

“I do realize that,” Dalla snapped. “You will have to learn along the way. Right now and in the days to come, people will need guidance. They’ll need a figurehead to gather round and follow. I need someone to help me somehow bring us back from the edge and rebuild our Realm. Like it or not, but the only person who is currently even halfway prepared for such a role is you.”

Sigyn stood and spun away from Dalla, needing escape but not knowing where she could even escape to. It was insane. All of it. She was just as likely to cause further harm to Vanaheim in her ignorance as she was to help it. More to the point, she had never wanted to be Queen. It had been understood in her family that she would likely never marry, and if she did, it would not be to a Prince or a King, even when they had still been royal. That had suited Sigyn fine. At least, she had acted as if it had. There were too many risks with marriage. It was safer to simply remain with her family, unmarried, and lead her own quiet life.

What about the people, though? Dalla was right. These were now terrifying, uncertain times, and without any kind of proper government things could quickly escalate out of control. People were going to be terrified and grieving and furious, all a perfect mix for chaos and anarchy. She may not be a Princess any longer, but Sigyn still had a duty to the people of Vanaheim.

“Sigyn.” Dalla’s voice was softer now, more pleading. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you weren’t somewhat capable of handling this. You are you father’s daughter, King Njord’s daughter. The King who united all the tribes of Vanaheim into one, something that had been deemed impossible. I know that, even with as little schooling as you were given before the War started, he would have taught you how to be a good Queen.”

Sigyn put a hand to her stomach, wishing she had eaten something so she could throw it back up just to rid herself of the nausea. There were so many ways she wished she could answer. It was impossible. For so many reasons, it was absolutely impossible. Freyja would have wanted her to say yes. So would have Freyr, though with more caution than his twin. And her father...

_Oh, Papa, what am I going to do?_

Through numb lips, Sigyn somehow managed to say, “You are Aesir. Shouldn’t you want someone of Asgard to rule Vanaheim? Someone who doesn’t break the treaty with Asgard simply by being Queen?”

“For now, I want someone who will give the people of Vanaheim hope,” Dalla said evenly. “You’ve just lost your entire family to this... event. When they see you take up a crown and help them through the darkness, that will give them hope. We can argue about the particulars of your rule when we’re not teeteering on the brink of chaos.”

Sigyn almost snorted. They were already in chaos. What Dalla feared was mayhem. At least with chaos, change followed; destruction was the only thing that came with mayhem.

More to the point, Sigyn sensed that Dalla thought of her as someone easily controlled. A figurehead was just another term for a puppet ruler. Dalla was eager to crown Sigyn and she’d no doubt that the councilwoman would just as quickly take the crown from her if Sigyn didn’t dance to her exact tune.

A knock at the door distracted from the tension between she and Dalla momentarily. They stared at each other for a beat before another knock came, this one slightly more insistent.

“Come in,” Sigyn said, half grateful that her awkward conservation with Dalla would be over, half reluctant to allow yet another person into her room.

Otgonbayar stepped inside, his movements hesitant, clearly afraid he was doing something he shouldn’t be. “Lady Sigyn, Councilwoman Dalla, please forgive me for my interruption, and if this is a bad time--”

“Yes, it’s a bad time,” Dalla said, pressing a finger to her temple. “It’s going to be a bad time for a while now. Please, get to the point of your visit.”

Otgonbayar blushed. “Y-yes, Councilwoman.” He looked down to a paper in his hands and cleared his throat. “We’ve received a report from the Light Elves in Alfheim. They say that they have...” He trailed off, blinking rapidly, then continued in a quieter voice: “They have also experienced some of their people turning to dust, and are alarmed to hear that we have as well. They regret that they cannot send any of their own to help us, as they’re in the same predicament as Vanaheim.”

Dalla cursed as she turned to the window, her fists clenched. Sigyn couldn’t find any words. A mess of emotions broke through her stupor -- at least it was not just Vanaheim that had this horrible thing happen, and she felt horrible for her relief that they were not alone, and guilt that she should be relieved at all. This must have happened throughout all the remaining Realms or, Norns forbid, throughout the universe. She tried to imagine that in numbers, tried to imagine how many beings must have simply died, and found she did not want to contemplate it yet. Like her family, she pushed it aside.

“Do we have a report yet on how many of our own number have--have disappeared?” Sigyn asked Otgonbayar as she ran a hand through Runa’s soft black fur.

“No, my lady.”

She nodded briefly. “I am glad you were not one of them, Otgonbayar,” she said, and she even managed a small smile for the boy, though it felt hollow.

He didn’t seem to know how to reply to such a sentiment, stumbling over his words before he managed to get out, “I’m glad you’re still with us too, my lady.”

“You should go and rest, if you can,” Sigyn said, and Otgonbayar took it as the gentle dismissal that it was and left the two women alone. Sigyn sat as soon as the chamber door closed and let out a slow breath.

Dalla allowed her a moment of silence. Sigyn knew it was all she could be given, even though she wanted more. She wanted to lie down and hear nothing but silence for the rest of her life. Freyja had told her to be strong and endure, but Sigyn did not know how she could do that when her family was dead.

_I am tired of enduring._

“That is why you must be Queen,” Dalla said at length. “Even in your own grief, you comforted that boy. You gave him a reason to smile. Who else could do that but a Queen?”

“Anyone with a sense of decency?” Sigyn asked, her tone withering.

“You may be surprised to know that can be in short supply at times, my lady.”

 _No,_ Sigyn thought. _I would not be surprised at all._

With a deep sigh, sat back in her chair and met Dalla’s eyes. “I can’t,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Anger flashed through Dalla’s brown eyes. “You’re being a selfish child,” she said, voice rising. Then she seemed to pull herself back, visibly straightening. “I’ll give you an opportunity to think it over,” she said, and her tone was coldly civil. “Though the Norns know we don’t have any time to spare, I’ll spare you what I can. Don’t disappoint me.”

Dalla left without waiting for a dismissal. The door closed with a soft thud, and somehow that was worse than if she had slammed it shut.

Alone save for her cat, Sigyn rested her head on the table and waited for the tears to come. They never did.


	3. Chapter Three

Runa roused Sigyn from her half-sleeping state some hours later. Sigyn rested her cheek on her arms, looking out over the sitting room. She knew she had to get up, to find something to eat if nothing else, and throw herself into the recovery process. Just because she had refused Dalla’s request to make her Queen did not mean she would turn her back on the Vana people entirely. She would simply have to help in other ways. 

“I’m scared, Runa,” she whispered. The cat rubbed her whole body along Sigyn’s chair, a loud purr emanating from her chest. Taking what strength she could from that purr, Sigyn pushed back her chair, stood, and made her way out of the room. 

The corridor was deathly silent. No servants passed her by, footsteps soft against the wooden floor, voices filling the air. She encountered no one at all as she walked down to the kitchens in search of something to eat. She didn’t really feel any hunger, but she knew she had to take care of that basic need, and Runa needed fed as well. Sigyn hugged herself against the silence and hurried on.

The kitchen proved to be no better, and Sigyn was momentarily struck aghast at the emptiness of the vast chamber. Fires had long since died out and food lay abandoned on the counters, cooking utensils next to them, or on the floor. 

With a quiet sigh, Sigyn took up an apron from a peg on the wall, tied it around her waist, rolled her up sleeves, and set to work. 

First she swept the floor, resolutely keeping herself from pondering if the darker dirt mixed in with some flour was the remains of people. She gathered up all the utensils and bowls and set them aside to wash later, finding clean ones for herself. With a thought and a wave of her hand, she started a fire in the great hearth again, as well as the oven. All too easily, Sigyn fell into the familiar pattern of washing ingredients, preparing them, and setting them into a pot. The routine tasks helped calm her mind and anxiety. She even managed a weak laugh when Runa stole a piece of lamb from her. Finally she sat in front of the fire and stirred her stew.

So lost in thought was she that it wasn’t until the stew was done that Sigyn realized she’d made far too much. She sighed as she took it off the fire and set it aside. To Runa she said, “I don’t suppose you’d eat lamb and vegetable stew, would you?”

Runa did not look enticed. 

After a moment’s deliberation, Sigyn took off her apron and motioned for Runa to follow her out of the kitchens. The corridors were still empty, and briefly Sigyn didn’t know where to go. Acting on a hunch, she went to the council chamber, her bare feet making no sound at all on the wooden floor. 

Sigyn stopped outside the doors, listening intently. She could only barely hear people talking inside. Hope flickered briefly in her chest -- perhaps Dalla had found people to form a new council? Then she wouldn’t need to feel so guilty that she had rejected the crown. Tentatively, she placed a hand on one of the doors and pushed it open. 

The few people scattered around the table fell silent as soon as she stepped in. Dalla did a good job of keeping her expression in check, but Sigyn still caught a gleam of righteousness in her brown eyes. She obviously believed Sigyn had come to accept her proposal. 

Sigyn clasped her hands in front of her. “I apologize for the intrusion,” she said as she cast her gaze about the people Dalla had gathered. There was a fair-haired Aesir soldier in the Asgard gold and Vana black; a young Vana woman Sigyn assumed to be Dalla’s secretary; and a Vana man with cool black skin and a closed shaved head. Papers were laid out on the table before them all, in the process of being sorted into piles. 

“No need for apologies, my lady,” Dalla said. “You’re welcome here as much as we are.”

They both knew that was a lie, or it had been until very recently. In the new world order, Sigyn supposed she may as well come and go into the council chamber as she pleased. 

“I made some stew,” she said. “It’s in the kitchens. There was no one else, so…” She shrugged inelegantly. “There should be enough for a dozen people, if not more. I thought I’d come and ask if anyone was hungry.”

The fair-haired Aesir soldier looked to Dalla. “We have been at this a long while, Councilwoman,” he said. “It would be good to have a break, even if it’s just going down, getting ourselves a bowl, and bringing it back here to eat while we work.” 

Dalla nodded, her gaze still on Sigyn. “Yes, you’re right, Theoric. All of you go on ahead and eat. We’ll need our strength.”

Soon the room held only Dalla, Sigyn, and her cat. Sigyn feigned ignorance. “Are you not hungry, Councilwoman?”

“I’ll eat later.” She leaned against the table. “Though I assumed that was also a ploy to get everyone out of the room so we would have some privacy.”

“If that were true, I would have closed the door behind them.” 

Dalla looked exhausted. No, past exhausted--she had reached a level of weariness that simply could not be seen in her body. Her very bones must have been tired. 

 _And it’s partly your fault,_ Sigyn thought. _Because you’re being a selfish child._

“You should rest,” she said aloud. 

Dalla waved a hand to the papers. “I’ll rest when collapse. These things need to be sorted first.” She shot a look at Sigyn. “And no, you cannot know what they are, unless you intend to become part of this process.”

Sigyn idly traced a rune on the surface of the table, nonsensical and lacking any power whatsoever. “I’m helping in a way I can,” she said. “My elder sister would ride into battle. I tend the wounded and the dying and comfort the living. It’s my way. I’m sorry I cannot be the way you need me to be.” 

“No, not cannot,” Dalla said. “Will not.” 

Sigyn had no answer for that. 

She was spared from trying to think of a reply when someone approached the chamber door. “Councilwoman Dalla,” a familiar voice said. Sigyn turned to see the Aesir soldier--Theoric--who had left only minutes before. He nodded respectfully to her. “Councilwoman, several ships have crashed in the outskirts of the city. They appear to be escape pods, though not of a make we recognize.” 

Dalla frowned. “Were there survivors?”

“Not only survivors, Councilwoman--they’re Aesir.”

* * *

Despite Dalla’s insistence that she didn’t need to come, Sigyn followed her and the soldier closely as they hurried to the old throne room. The survivors were slowly being brought there, as it was the biggest chamber in the palace. 

“We didn’t see any injuries that needed tending,” Theoric told Sigyn kindly, clearly trying to give her an excuse not to come.

“Not all injuries are physical, sir,” she replied. 

Dalla waved off Theoric’s attempt to answer. “She’ll come whether we say she can or not,” she said. “Save your breath.” 

Theoric cast Sigyn a glance, an unreadable expression in his blue eyes, before looking away. She didn’t have time to ponder it long as soon they were in the throne room. 

It was far fuller than Sigyn expected, a cacophony of voices crashing on her. Seeing her confusion, Dalla said, “We’ve brought some of the people from the city here. Those who were injured in the event, children with no families left...” She trailed off, letting the words sink in. “They’ve nowhere else to go at the moment.” 

Swallowing hard, Sigyn forced herself to look out at the crowd. These were her people, and she was failing them. 

Then stop gawking and get to work, she chided herself. She went over to a group of children first, a mix of Aesir and Vana, all of them barely older than their first ten decades. Some of them were crying; worse were the ones who only had a blank look on their faces, their gaze far away at something unseen. 

“Hello,” she said, kneeling down to their level. “I’m Sigyn, and this is Runa.” 

The cat rumbled pleasantly and made her way into the middle of the group. The sound of quiet laughter was a small blessing. Several of the children began petting her, and Runa rewarded them by gently licking the tears off their faces. 

Smiling reassuringly, Sigyn said, “Are any of you hurt?” 

One Aesir girl with startling green eyes turned to Sigyn. Her stare was sharper than a sword and pierced Sigyn’s heart just as much. “My mama,” she said. “My mama got hit in the head. She said she was right behind me and my brother on the ship, but when we escaped from the big man, she wasn’t there.”

Sigyn somehow kept her expression warm even as a chill ran through her. “Maybe she got on another escape ship,” she said, even though she knew it was probably a lie. 

The girl shook her head fiercely. “I don’t see her! I want to see my mama!” Her brother began crying, catching on to the near hysterical note in his sister’s voice, and soon his sister joined him in sobbing. 

It was no good lying to them, Sigyn decided. Some part of them already knew their mother was dead. “Would you like me to hold you?” 

She held her arms out to the siblings. The girl seemed hesitant, but the boy immediately climbed into Sigyn’s lap, wrapping his arms as far as they would go around her middle. He was so young, Sigyn realized with a lurch of her heart. She knew what it was like to be young and terrified and alone in the Nine. 

Sigyn met every single child’s gaze. “You’re scared,” she said, “and you’re angry, and confused. It’s alright to feel all these things. It’s alright to feel them for a long time, which you may. Your lives have changed, and I’m sorry, but they won’t go back to what they were.” She ran a hand over the boy’s brown hair, rocking him gently. “Those of you whose parents aren’t here… they did what they had to do in order to protect you. It’s not fair, and it’s not right, and I wish it had never happened to you. But your parents can rest easily in Valhalla and Folkvangr knowing you’re all alive.” 

A brown-skinned Aesir boy spoke up, angry tears streaming down his face. “Why did the Norns do this? It’s their fault, isn’t it?”

Feeling out of her depth, Sigyn said, “I don’t know. I wish I did. If the Norns truly do write our destinies down the moment we’re born… I wish I could ask them why they include the suffering they do.” 

Suffering didn’t make anyone stronger. It just made them hurt. There were ways to become stronger that didn’t include having to bleed for it, and Sigyn wished she knew a simple way to tell this to the children. 

Instead, she settled on a truth she knew all too well. “You’re not going to feel safe for a while. Maybe never. You might have nightmares of what happened today when you’re asleep and when you’re awake. The road ahead is difficult. 

“But,” she continued, gazing at each child steadily, “you won’t walk it alone. I’ll be here, and so will many others, and we’ll hold your hands to help you through. That’s what your parents died for. They died to make certain you could live, even if it was without them.” 

Some of the children seemed to be grateful she had told them the truth; others began crying again. The girl pulled her brother away from Sigyn, glaring at her and shushing him when he began to protest. 

Knowing she had said all she could, Sigyn checked the children over for wounds. Save for a few scratches and bruises, all their injuries were mental and emotional. She had no way of healing that. 

“Attention, please,” Dalla’s voice cut through the roar of voices. “I must ask for your attention and quiet, please. I am Councilwoman Dalla of Vanaheim, currently in charge of… well, everything.” She glanced around the crowd. “Is there someone among you who can be considered to be in charge?” 

Several people turned to a woman standing off to the side. When Sigyn saw her white armor and blue cape, she held back a gasp, wondering how she didn’t see her the very second she walked in. The woman’s brow rose and she said, “Uh, not me. Definitely not me.” 

Dalla stared hard at her. “And yet you wear the Valkyrie armor. You should not don that mantle unless you want to be considered a leader of these refugees.” 

“I didn’t just pick this up off the side of the road,” the woman snapped. “I am a Valkyrie.” 

“The Valkyrie are no more,” Dalla said evenly. “Even Lady Freyja was stripped of that title centuries ago.” 

“Sucks for her,” the Valkyrie said with a shrug of one shoulder. “Doesn’t change what I am. Believe me, I was happy drinking myself to death on some backwater planet before the Princes decided to show up and talk me into saving the day and shit.” 

Sigyn stepped forward, unable to focus on one emotion at one time. “The _Princes_? Thor and Loki? You’ve seen them?” 

The Valkyrie waved a hand impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. Do I have to tell you the entire story?” When expectant silence met her question, she scoffed quietly in bewilderment. “Seriously?”

* * *

They brought the Valkyrie back to the council chamber, away from the crowd in the throne room. Dalla insisted Sigyn come along this time despite the fact that she hadn’t finished looking over everyone. There were still some healers alive, and Sigyn had waited until they arrived and began circulating throughout the refugees before she allowed her group to leave. 

“Right, so,” Valkyrie said, sitting down and throwing her feet up on the table. Dalla looked ready to say something, then stopped herself. “The Allfather died, which released his daughter Hela from her prison in Niffleheim. The same Hela that killed my sisters-in-arms when Odin sent us to stop her from being a conquering bitch. Hela sent Thor and Loki to a planet called Sakaar, and we escaped from there to stop Hela from beginning Ragnarok.

“We stopped Hela, but…” Valkyrie paused and seemed momentarily hurt. “We had to destroy Asgard to do it. We summoned Surtur and let him deal with her. Her power was tied to Asgard itself. The survivors were all gathered in a ship, and Thor decided to settle us on Midgard. We never got there. Some ugly son of a bitch they called Thanos intercepted us, slaughtered half the remaining Aesir, and the other half are now here with you.

“That’s the backstory. Can we get back to the situation at hand? Are you gonna let me go so I can find that Thanos guy and kick his ass?” 

No one seemed to know what to say. Sigyn finally managed, “I’m sorry for the loss of Asgard. I cannot imagine how painful it was to watch your home be torn apart.” 

Valkyrie shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “It hadn’t been my home for a long time. It’s hard to mourn what you already gave up, or something poetic like that.” 

“But you’re lying,” Dalla said. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Prince Loki died four years ago during a battle with the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim,” Sigyn said quietly. 

“Then the Grandmaster was flirting with a shared hallucination,” Valkyrie said, almost sneering. She rubbed her forehead. “Listen, if this is going to go on for a while, can you bring in some booze?” 

“Prince Loki was truly alive?” Sigyn pressed, heart in her throat, hardly daring to make herself believe it. 

“He felt pretty alive when I knocked him out and tied him up.” 

Deciding to ignore that, Sigyn sat down, thinking of the dead magpie. It had been an omen. The question was, had it arrived too late?

“As he isn’t here with you,” she said flatly, “I suppose we should presume he and Prince Thor died in the battle with this Thanos?” 

The Valkyrie was silent, studying Sigyn, her eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Yeah,” she answered at length, and she sounded sorry. “I’m pretty sure they did. Thanos destroyed the ship.” 

Sigyn closed her eyes and felt her heart break all over again.


	4. Chapter Four

“Were you and Loki lovers?”

Sigyn jumped in surprise as Dalla came to stand beside her. She had sought quiet and solitude in the old royal gardens, closing her ears to the voices of the land and trying to untangle her thoughts. Not that the land had anything to offer her now besides the usual. The screams from the day before had long since fallen silent.

She knew now that the warning had not been solely from Vanaheim, but from Yggdrasil itself. The whole Nine had been terrified.

“No,” Sigyn answered after a long pause. “We weren’t. We only met a handful of times.”

In public, at least.

Hoping to keep Dalla from any more questions, Sigyn added, “I don’t feel sexual attraction or desire. At least, not so far in my life.” Another half-truth. Sigyn had experienced attraction to Loki, but it hadn’t been until they had formed a friendship that she’d felt it.

Dalla stared at her hard. “I saw how you reacted when you heard he had died,” she said. “Twice now, in fact. First when the news arrived about the Dark Elves, and just now with the Valkyrie.”

“I can grieve the loss of someone I knew without it being romantic or sexual.”

Dalla bowed her head, conceding the point. They stood together in silence, listening to the birds as they found their ways back into the trees and settled in for the night. It was almost too quiet. Sigyn hadn’t realized how much noise a city should make until half of its people had been killed and were no longer there to make a sound. It was all wrong.

“I’m sorry for your loss, then,” Dalla said. “I was only going to say that, if you had been, and it had been public knowledge, that it might hurt your image. But if you’re still against becoming Queen, then it doesn’t matter.”

Could it be that Sigyn had finally found the one woman in the Nine who was more stubborn than she?

Keeping her voice steady, Sigyn said, “It was known that we met during before the War for the attempted peace talks, then during the drafting of the treaty and afterwards. Otherwise, I haven’t met him in... a century, maybe? We got along, despite our, ah, circumstances. We had similar interests. But it wasn’t a deep friendship.”

It was a good thing she was such an accomplished liar. She foresaw herself using the talent much in the coming days.

“Good. Even if he did save the Aesir survivors, he’s still the Prince who tried to destroy Jotunheim, conquer Midgard, and threw the Realms into chaos for two years. Having a relationship with him would be an error.”

Sigyn thought of the many conquerors the Asgard royal family boasted and said nothing.

Dalla sighed and looked up to the sky. “This is the first time I’ve looked at the sky since it all happened. It still seems like a nightmare, doesn’t it? To look up at the stars and realize that each one might have a population that’s been obliterated by half.”

“Did you...” Sigyn trailed off, somewhat ashamed that she hadn’t asked before now. “Did you lose any family?”

“As far as I’m aware, no,” Dalla said, her gaze still upwards. “My wife survived. She’s in the city now, helping with the clean up. The rest of my family has either long since passed or they’re out in the universe, beyond my reach.” She took a deep breath and shook her head slightly. “It wasn’t evenly distributed, either, what happened. Some families were untouched, some only have one person left alive, and yet others are gone completely. So I can’t predict how many of my family might remain. That would be too much of a blessing, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry.”

Finally Dalla turned her gaze back to Sigyn. The gentle firelight that had begun to illuminate the gardens once the sun set made her face look younger, less tired. “Have you given any more thought to what I said?”

“Every moment I’ve been awake.” Sigyn turned away and ran a hand along the banister that edged the gardens. Small vines crept up the intricate wood, following her hand, and tiny purple flowers blossomed along them. “Please believe me when I say I have my reasons for rejecting it. Legitimate reasons, and not just my being a child.”

“And what reasons are those?”

Sigyn almost told her. She truly did. It would be so simple to give Dalla the reason she needed to leave Sigyn alone, to put aside any hopes of a new Vanaheim Queen, to focus on building a new council and helping Vanaheim that way. But with that truth came danger and uncertainty, and Sigyn was not willing to trust her life to Dalla.

Instead she pulled her hand away from the banister and said, “You should try to rest, Councilwoman. The Nine can wait for a few hours.”

She felt Dalla’s glare on her back as she walked away.

* * *

_There is a Titan coming,_ Loki had told her, _a mad Titan by the name of Thanos. Sigyn, listen to me. Vanaheim has no chance against him. When he comes for it, let him take what he wants, and stay alive._

Sigyn remembered those words as if Loki had spoken them to her only yesterday. Now here she was, still alive, and Loki was dead, and Thanos had not even had to step foot on Vanaheim in order to destroy it. The Norns had a twisted sense of humor. They always had.

Silently, Sigyn made her way back to the throne room, the two moons of Vanaheim lighting her way. She’d been unable to sleep, instead throwing herself back into making food for the refugees, unwilling to return to a silent home where her family would never reside again. So far, no one had tossed her out of the palace. Trying to survive an apocalypse took up most of their time.

Exhausted as she was, Sigyn knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep, and so had taken to roaming the halls of her old home. It had been cleared of almost everything her family had owned. The vases remained, as did the paintings and the rich tapestries; they showed the history of Vanaheim, not just of the royal family. Of course the council would want to keep them. But little things had changed, like the curtains, or the flowers they kept in the vases. Sigyn used to be in charge of changing the flowers out. She never did, instead she kept the ones in the vases alive as long as she had lived in the palace, and had taken care of the gardens. No one had ever caught on to the fact that the flowers didn’t wilt or die.

As she neared the throne room, the paintings changed to show the long lineage of her family. How many hours had she spent studying each one, memorizing every little detail, wondering what those long ago kings and queens had been like? There was only so much she could learn from books. Songs and epic poems only focused on the fantastical. Sigyn had wanted to know how well she fit in with this family, and she was not fantastical, not really.

Sigyn stopped in front of the painting of her father. In it, Njord was the age he’d been when he’d assumed the throne. It was strange to see him with pure black hair and an unlined face. They’d never had a chance to update it to show Njord with his black and white hair. Even despite that, though, he still seemed older than his years in the painting.

Next to him on one side was Freyja in all her splendor, and on the other, Freyr with his amused, kind smile.

Added much, much later to the painting was Sigyn.

She sat on her knees in front of Njord’s throne, dressed in a purple and gold del, her shoulder-length hair braided and set beneath a beaded headdress. It was strange looking at herself from another person’s perspective. Her expression was solemn, her dark eyes unreadable, her head held high. Sigyn remembered sitting for the artist at the time. She had held her neck so still and so tense that it ached for days afterwards. How terrified she had been that if she didn’t do everything perfectly, she would be found out, and her new life would be over.

That painting had decorated the doors of the throne room as long as her father had reigned. After the War, it had been put on canvas and hoisted up on the wall on one side of the doors. On the other side, a painting of the treaty hung, Thor and Hogun clasping hands to bring about peace. Odin sat in his golden throne behind them, watching, seeing all with his one eye.

“I want to take that painting and give it to the cats to piss on,” Freyja had hissed to her after the War had ended. Sigyn had agreed with the sentiment.

Now she only felt a slight sting. Time healed all wounds, or so they said. While the painting was a sore reminder of what they’d lost, for others, it was a celebration of a new beginning. It did not show the amount of blood it had taken to bring about that new beginning. Nor did it show what they had lost in the aftermath, how fast Asgardian ideals had begun to change their culture, their society. Women could fight, but only as a last resort, and they could never be part of an army. Men were men and women were women, and they each had their place in society. Women could not hold the throne; it would always be a man, preferably the son of the king, or some other male relative.

They had Asgard’s peace and protection, but they would have never needed either if Asgard had not set their sights on them in the first place.

Sigyn had almost forgotten it, but as a child, she _had_ disliked the monarchy. Even in a place as fair as Vanaheim, all the power still resided in the king, with his chosen leaders seeing out his will in the far-flung tribes. The people had no say in who became king or not. There had been no power struggles in the royal family since Njord’s mother had taken the throne, but there had been in the past, and they had been bloody. Whoever sat on the throne made all the final decisions, even if it was a bad decision, even if it ended in harm. No one person should ever have that much control over so many lives.

_Where does that leave me, then?_ Sigyn wondered as she studied the painted etching of Yggdrasil on the throne room doors. She pushed one open, revealing that the room was empty. All the refugees had been placed in the various rooms of the palace. All that remained now were a few forgotten things, shoes or jewelry, scattered about the floor.

Sigyn approached the platform where her father’s throne once resided. Where Dalla, hours before, had taken control of the room as the sole council member left. The paint on the stones showed centuries of neglect, flaking off in some areas and fading in others. The throne had been taken apart and destroyed after the War, and the throne room had been abandoned in favor of the second largest room in the palace, where the council could meet with the public and hear court cases and other such things.

_If I were to be Queen,_ Sigyn thought, _I would have to do things differently than they’ve been done. If I could ever have a chance to be comfortable with the crown on my head, I would have to come by it differently than others before me._

Sigyn stepped on to the platform and turned so she was looking out over the vast room. Windows let in the light from the moons, dust kicked up by the refugees drifting in the air.

She felt like a fraud. She felt tiny, and insignificant, and nowhere near powerful enough to handle everything that would have come from sitting on the throne.

And yet. Strange that it should seem so much smaller to her now than it had been when Freyr had first brought her to it. The room was still vast, but not as imposing as it had been when she was a frightened child. She no longer feared the room, but neither could she forget she did not entirely belong there, either.

* * *

She had only been on her own for five years before she came upon Freyr’s hunting party in the woods. She had been so hungry. Even now, she can remember the sharp pain of that hunger, how it consumed her entirely until it was her only thought. It never got easier to bear, never became any easier to ignore. Freyr and his party were eating around a campfire, and she had been drawn to the smell of it, the scent of meat over a fire heavy in the air. They were laughing and telling stories, their voices so loud, and Sigyn knew how to be silent. They were rich, she could tell by their clothes.

They wouldn’t miss a small loaf of bread, would they?

She didn’t know she was stealing from the Prince of Vanaheim. All she knew was that hunger, and how that morning she had counted her ribs beneath her stretched skin, and how much she hated these rich men with their abundance of food and drink and comfort. In her desperation, she hadn’t noticed the ward set up around their stock of food. One moment she was reaching for some bread, the next, she couldn’t move at all.

Freyr had come to her first. “What’s this? A little forest mouse?” He was smiling, and Sigyn felt fear lurch through her, begging her muscles to move, move, move. She didn’t notice that his smile was kind, as were his eyes, and that he was staring at her not with hatred or distaste or fury, but with sympathy. He picked up the bread and held it up. “I’m going to release you from the spell,” he said, “and I’m going to give you this, and invite you to our fire. Please don’t run off.”

Shocked, Sigyn didn’t move when he released her from the ward. She tensed, as wary as an animal who’d heard a hunter just out of sight, but she did not run. Her gaze flicked between the bread and Freyr’s face.

Freyr handed her the bread. “We have butter by the fire, if you’d--”

Sigyn crammed as much of the bread into her mouth as she could and chewed it only a few times before swallowing. It settled like a rock in her stomach.

Alarmed, Freyr slowly held up a hand. “You shouldn’t eat so fast, you’ll make yourself sick.”

Logic was wasted on her; the bread was soon gone. Sigyn put a hand to her belly and winced in pain, even as she still watched Freyr.

Gently, he held his hand out to her, and his expression was so kind that Sigyn didn’t know how to react. “Come,” he said. “I’m going to bring you to my father, and to people who can help you get better safely. The woods are no place for a little mouse.”

Centuries later, she could not say what made her believe him and take his hand. Perhaps it had been the ground beneath her feet, telling her this was a kind man, a good man, a man loved by Vanaheim and who loved it in return. Maybe it had been the warmth in his face. Or it could have been that in all that time, he had treated her as if she were something precious, had respected that she was frightened, and made no sudden movements.

Whatever the reason, Sigyn had gone with Freyr, and he had taken her to Njord. One of Freyr’s friends gave her a blanket to wrap around her bony body. The felt had been soft against her rough skin. There had been audible gasps at how skinny she was when one of Njord’s servants had taken the blanket from her.

Njord had come down from his throne and knelt down to her level, his expression exactly as kind as his son’s. “Do you have a name?”

She had many names. Some she didn’t like much, and others she did. People in her part of the city called her Rat, as she was always sharing her scraps of food with the rats and mice. Others called her Sparrow, or Kitten, for the same reason. Before she’d come to the city, she’d been called useless, worthless, disgusting.

She didn’t use any of those. Instead, she told Njord the truth, and spoke a name that she had almost forgotten: “Sigyn. My name is Sigyn.”

* * *

Something jostled her hand roughly. Blinking wearily, Sigyn startled awake, not immediately recognizing where she was. Then the throne room came back into focus and with it came calm. She had fallen asleep on the floor, her head resting on the seat of the throne.

Now, Runa nudged her hand again, chuffing impatiently. She held something in her mouth.

“Oh, Runa,” Sigyn said, her tone somewhat scolding. “I had those hidden for a reason.”

She took the letters from Runa carefully, noting gratefully that Runa had kept from putting teeth marks in the parchment. The cat must have wandered off back to Njord’s hall and undone the protections Sigyn had placed on the letters.

“Of all the things to use your magic on,” Sigyn said, even as she scratched Runa’s large ear. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

Runa grumbled lowly, then came to lay by Sigyn’s side. With a small sigh, Sigyn undid the twine holding the letters together. She unfolded the one that lay on top, and her traitorous heart gave a small flutter when she saw the familiar handwriting.

_Dear Lady Sigyn, Princess of Vanaheim,_

_Forgive the presumption, if indeed sending a letter so early in our acquaintance could be called presumptuous…_

Smiling slightly, Sigyn ran her fingers over the ink. Some silent part of her was grateful beyond words that she had saved every letter Loki had ever written to her.

Now that he was gone, it was all she had left of him.

As the night gave way to dawn, Sigyn sat at the foot of her father’s old throne, reading the letters Loki had secretly sent her for centuries. It was the closest she’d come to feeling peaceful in days.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Florence + the Machine song of the same name. 
> 
> According to the "Art of The Dark World" book, Vanaheim is a mishmash of East Asian cultures, with a primary basis in Mongolia. Since their handling of such a thing was, um, questionable at best, I'm only using it as a jumping off point and I'm embellishing the world as I go. If I screw up somewhere in regards to representation, please hit me upside the head.


End file.
